THE GREAT DEBATE, Parts I, II, and III

I had a Navy Blue sports coat and the Worlds Biggest tie.
My partner wore a Marigold miniskirt and White Stockings with a seam up the back. The type stockings that make the legs look kind of blue on the edges, a sort of Doppler effect.
Her name was Kathy, with a K, and she wore a blouse with Peaches on it. Like most Kathy's, with a K, , she had great breasts, and when she wore that blouse there were these two really well placed Peaches, and when I was stoned I always had to ask myself if the designer had done that on purpose.
I wonder that to this day.
Kathy was my partner on the Debate Team.

We had two shoeboxes filled with index cards that we carried with us into our first debate. One held cards with quotations and information about our case, otherwise known as "The Affirmative", which was our answer to "The Resolution":
"Resolved: The United States of America should significantly change the method of selecting and electing Presidential and Vice-presidential Candidates"...
Resolved being the topic adopted by the UIL for High Schools throughout America for the 74/75 season, it was part of the aftermath of impeaching Nixon. It also was the most Scholarly thing I have ever attempted to do.

The second shoebox was filled with index cards for the Negative. That is, after our opponents presented their Affirmative case on what to do about the scumbags in Washington, we were to pull index cards with quotations, facts and figures in order to rebut, destroy and make nonsense of the affirmatives case. As I was to find out, this is a difficult, pressure filled thing to do.

Sitting behind the table at the front of the classroom on the day of our first Debate, I took note of my suroundings. There was the Chalkboard with Eisteinian equations, there was a Periodic Chart of the Elements, a poster of Madam Curie or Ethel Merman in some Movie, I couldn't quite tell. There was a chart of the 10 rules for Chemlab.

There was a machine my math teacher had brought to my own classroom one day called a "computer" that you fed "Data". I had gotten sent to the office for asking if his newborn son had learned to say 'Data" yet, while predicting the ultimate failure of this "piece of ca-ca*"

It was a Math and Chemistry Room and I flunked both of those classes.
When you say "let x=y" I can't comprehend it. It strikes me as being most unfair, and to both of them. But I do believe in Alchemy. Thats part of why I flunked Chemistry twice, but thats another story.

And then the were the three judges siitng in front of me. The first was a dust dry little old lady with those CatGlasses, attached with a chain that ran around her neck that allowed them to rest on her bosom until she put them back on to take a long critical look at me. I nodded and gave my best Eddie Haskel smile to her, but she took them off with a disdainful look, seemed to shiver a bit and went back to chewing her gums** and reading "The Grape Gaspy" or something She wore support stockings amd Army Boots...no....Granny Shoes and I imagine she had a really bad case of varicose veins.
Yes, she had blue helmet hair.

The second judge was a studious looking middle aged man and completely unremarkable. Sometimes the most you can say about someone is that they are unremarkable. Bald or with hair, necktie or no, bearded, cleanshaven or in blackface, this guy would not get your attention even if he were barebeamed and buck naked. He looked like the kind of guy that kept a diary of every nonevent that occurred during his livelong day. Cut out articles from the Student Newspaper and latest hobby would be "Paint by Numbers".

But the third judge, well....
He was young, cool looking and dressed smartly. The shirt was solid colored, Deep Purple I believe, , except for the collars and cuffs, which were white. On the corners of the collar, was a tiny little embroided Carrot, and the Green top of the Carrot fairly resembled a stylized Marijuana leaf. He had hair longer than mine, and droopy eyelids, but his eyes flashed a certain brilliance that I was sure went brain deep. He had on Brown corduroy pants, and they were tucked into Buckshin knee boots . around his neck was a leather strap holding a little leather Medicine bag. He looked like a cross between Zonker and Mingo.

I looked at him and he gave me me a backwards nod, you know, not one where he dips his head towards you, but rather tosses his head back a touch.
Then he went back to looking at his copy of 'Fear and Loathing on the Campaign Trail" while stealing furtive glances ay Kathy's Peaches.

                                     ********************

Years later, a friend of mine in the fashion industry told me Kathy’s blouse with the Peaches was deliberately tailored that way.
Duly noted.

******************

PART TWO

"Sweat and Underwear"

Now Kathy was a nice girl, and I was lucky to be her Debate Team partner.
Later in the Debate season, Kathy and I actually would actually win a Debate Tournament when I used Dick Gregory's analogy comparing electing a president to choosing a whore. I had argued that:
"After all, no matter how many candidates are running, or whores you have to choose from, they are still all whores".
It came to be known in our club as "Steve's Great Whore Case”.
The first time I used that line, Kathy put her face to the desk covering her head in shame.
Kathy did that a lot.
But we were both surprised that the Judges seemed to favor this rebuttal of attempts by our opponents wanting to change the Two Party Political system.

But back to our first Debate.

Kathy and I waited with the three Judges and our two shoeboxes filled with index cards with facts and figures, information and quotes, seated at a table for the arrival of our opponents.

It was our Debating debut and we were nervous. Not only was the subject of Campaign Election Reform complicated and new to us, but we weren’t very organized.

Even today, the kids down at Blockbuster Movies shudder when I walk in the door because they know I can’t find shit in there. They use a System of putting the movies in alphabetical order, but they also have categories like New Releases, Drama, Comedy, and Action. Oh yeah, there is a Horror section too. These categories, to me, are quite subjective. One man’s action movie is another man’s drama and so on and so forth.

I think the movies should all be under one category.
“Sweat and Underwear”
That’s what everything all boils down to anyway.

But back to the debate….and our opponents entrance.
They carried Gold Plated Briefcases, Rolodex files, and had a Desktop name tag made from Etched Glass that read:

Ignacio and Nicholas
Jesuit Preparatory Academy

They were wearing Red Bow-Ties and Coal Black Double Breasted suits with the School Crest blazoned on the pocket.

They placed all this high tech debating equipment on their half of the table, glanced pitifully at our shoeboxes, went and shook hands with the three judges and returned to the table, standing “at ease”, hands clasped behind their straight backs to face Kathy and I.
It was enough to make me stop my slouching, and sit straight up in my seat.

But the most intimidating thing about this was not the Jackets, the Bow Ties and Breifcases, or even the Glass Placard that gave them the look of O.J. Simpsons Defense Team.

It wasn't even the Rolodex files that I was sure were filled with more and better facts, figures and quotations than our shoeboxes, or the fact that they would actually be able to find the card they needed when they needed it that made me queasy...

It was the fact that our opponents could not have been more that 12 years old.
The biggest one was about 85 pounds, soaking wet. My kid sister coulda' broke him in two.
The smaller one was no bigger than a minute.
They were lap babies and they were about to kick our ass.

Kathy looked at me. She was goggle-eyed like you wouldn’t believe, and she had turned white as a sheet.
Kathy was a good kid, but I knew she was shook, so I leaned over and whispered to her:
‘Man, we are in the shit now”
and gave her my best grin.
But inside I was all sweat and underwear.

*****************

PART THREE

"Who wants Red Lobster?"

Our 13 year old, pre-pubescent , never-kissed-a-girl-or-squeezed-a-titty opponents were about to kick our ass. They opened their gilded briefcases and began their case. They were the Affirmative which moved towards Election Reform.
Just 60 days prior, Nixon had resigned as President. Slush Funds, CREEP (Committee for the Re-election of the President) and Watergate had become words even a 4th grader was familiar with.

The House and Senate in Washington were debating the same topic as Kathy and I and all the other High Schools. Election Reform was prominent in the country's consciousness. Looking back, I did not realize at the time how cool it was to be role playing (if not playing a role) in this issue.

Bear with me here.

The centerpiece of our opponents case was to take all donations for each party and put them in a big pool, then distribute those funds equally through a General Accounting Office. The hope was to eliminate secret contributions, illegal donations, and make certain no one would gain a monetary edge.

As our counterparts gave their presentation, Kathy and I scrambled frantically through our shoeboxes, looking for facts figures and information with which to refute their case.
We had determined that I was to go first to present my 5 minute rebuttal.
On shaky legs, I stood up.

Who watched the Biden/Ryan debate?
What they do up there is really hard to do, especially for a High School kid, but the 85 pound 13 year old (with the Paul Ryan hairline) that led off was like William F'n Buckley.
It was either Nicolas, or Ignacio, it didn't really matter.
His presentation was flawless.

Why I had joined the debate team I didn't know at that moment. I was born to be a Chef.
The room seemed to be spinning around me, my knees were about to buckle and it sounded like sand was pouring into my ears. I wanted to crawl under a rock.  So I cleared my throat and began:
"I need a moment to get my shit together."
Yep, that's what I said.
Out of the corner of my eye I saw Kathy pound her forehead into the table and cover herself with her hands, and from under her tousled blonde hair an audible moan escaped.

Motivated by shame and with a sense of pity towards my partner, I finally began to speak. I don't recall what I said, I was dizzy and having an out-of-body experience up there. But suddenly, the smell of Kathy's perfume was replaced by the faint scent of apples.
Like I said, I was born to be a Chef, and I could smell apples.

As I spoke, the apple smell grew stronger. I looked to our opponents. I saw in their opened briefcases they each had a small Brown Paper bag.

With this new visual input, my senses heightened and I began to detect a faint but unmistakable smell of Tuna, and then Roast Beef on Rye, and even a Hostess Twinkie.
OMG! Their Momma had packed their lunches!

And then an idea hit me like someone had dropped the Watergate Hotel on my head, with Haldeman, Dean and Mitchell all tumbling down, and CREEP members and Secret Cash funds all spilling out...I knew I had to find a way out of that shoebox. It was killing me, but I sensed an opportunity..
Right in the middle of my rebuttal, I came to a complete stop and looked down at Kathy.

I said:
"Kathy, how much money do you have?"
She looked at me all confused and I gave her that "Just Tell Me " look and she reached for her purse and said "I think I got $4"

"Four dollars?" I said while pulling out my billfold. "Thats fine Kathy, just put it there on the center of the table, and I'll put my two dollars with it..."

I was gaining some momentum here. I turned to my counterparts and said...

"Nick, Iggy, how much do you boys have?
They looked at each other and started to reach for their wallets.
I continued...
"No, don't bother to get up, you don't need to put your money in the General Fund here. We will just pretend that you have...oh...$10...so that gives us $16 in the General Fund. You betcha. Now, I see you boys brought your own lunch, probably Tuna on Wheat and Roast Beef on Rye, and that can be your vote..."


At this point they were lookin' at me like I was Kreskin because I knew exactly what they had in their little lunch bags. I was born to be a chef.
I was on a roll, and all the way out of that shoebox full of index cards.

"...But Kathy and I, dog-gone-it, we are voting for Red Lobster and we are going to take our half of the GAO fund which includes ya'lls $10. Now I know what you boys are thinkin'... that we aren't going to get much at Red Lobster for $8, and you are right. But clearly, as I am about to show, your case does nothing to stop Secret and Illegal Campaign donations"

I pulled my billfold back out and and produced the Twenty Dollar bill that Dad had taught me to keep tucked away for emergencies. With a dramatic flourish, I held it high.

"But I just happen to have a little 'Slush Fund of my own, and now not only do we have enough for Kathy and I to eat like Kings, we have enough to take two of these three judges with us.
So, who wants RED LOBSTER?"

Like I keep sayin', I was born to be a Chef.

I sat down. Kathy was beaming.
My opponents spent their next 15 minutes arguing against my convoluted case, while Kathy drilled holes in theirs.
We won our first Debate!

Here, Richard Nixon presents me with my Debate Trophy!

ROLLING IN THE SLUDGE

The radio station I’ve been listening to has become lame. I’m hearing the same songs the same time of day all the time.

I hate that.

Increasingly, I’ve been turning it off entirely.
I had it on Friday, and they played some horrible song and I thought about turning it off.

But then another song came on, a catching little tune by some chick with a great voice. It was so “POP” that it had to have enough cyclamate in it to kill a pony. I really couldn’t stand it, but neither could I turn away. I listened and wondered about that voice.

It wasn't Janis, or Grace Slick; it didn’t have the personality of Chrissy Hynde, or even Edie Brickell; it was a thick sweet syrupy voice, like drinking non-dairy hazelnut creamer right out of the container. It was kind of like Cher maybe, without all the testosterone; it was Madonna, minus the Prozac.
Who could it be?

And then, the horror of it all. Suddenly I knew it was the artist I’ve avoided all year. I’ve never heard one of her songs straight through, but I knew I was listening to Adele.
I have got to find a new radio station.

Put a hat on her and you got Boy George.

Crack her in half and Andy Devine and Cindy Lauper come crawling out.

BIG TEX IS BURNING

He was 60 feet tall, and dumb looking, but everyone loved him anyway. He actually said a big  "HOWDY" every 20 seconds or so at the entrance to the State Fair of Texas. But about 20 minutes ago Big Tex caught fire.

"My My, Hey Hey...its better to burn out than to fade away."

Heres what he looked like before...

Goin' home to Jesus.

MY FAVORITE MISTAKE

Last I heard, she was a $5000-a-night Vegas Escort.
It had been just a rumor, but I had every reason to believe it.

She was just that good. Really.

I had met her when she was 16, going on 25. She seduced me, plain and simple. There was nothing sleazy or slutty about Tressa, She was just one of those natural born lovers, like Aphrodite or Venus; Anne Boleyn or Cleopatra.
And the next four years would prove we had a thing.
I was 19 and she was 16 that first time, and after, as I lay on my back, her propped on one elbow looking me right in the eye, grinning she says:
"That was FUN!"

She may have been my junior, but I was way overmatched.

When ever I tell a story about doing something I shouldn’t have and having it come out right, I think of Tressa.

Whenever I see the ghost of a half-moon in the middle of the day, I think about Tressa.

She was always so natural being out of place...but she was always right where she ought to be, at least when she was with me.
What she did after that, on her own time, I did not know. It seemed to work both ways.
She never asked where I had been, or what I had been doing either.
I don’t recall we ever once said good-bye. It was always see you later; unbinding, tentative on visibility, and pending whenever later might be, presumably at a future date. They say that two objects, once captured into each others gravity, can never escape from it. It was kind of like that.

I remember the end of the summer of 1980. Rita had left late that spring. It had been long lonely summer that had dragged its sixty-nine 100 degree days out far too long.

It was strange the way Tressa had called out of the blue at 3AM.

It was strange that I was so relieved to hear from her, even though she said she was in big trouble. How can you be relieved to find a lover in trouble? Because there are some, those who gravitate towards the edge, that you are relieved to hear from at all.
It was very strange that the stupid movie I had been watching had just finished having Fred Astaire tell Ginger Rodgers that “Fate is a fools word for chance” when the phone rang.

Tressa said over the phone “I am taking a chance you can help me”
I said “Chance is a fools word for Fate”
And Tressa just laughed and said “Are you watching that Fred Astaire movie too?”
Man, that’s Fate for you.

It was strange the way Tressa would call when I needed a friend when she needed a friend.
It was strange that I didn't know then that she didn't call enough, that it would have been OK for me ta call once and a while.
It was strange to see that it was still 102 degrees  at 4AM as I passed the big clock downtown to save Tressa from whatever she had gotten into, that summer of 1980.
It was strange. She wanted to go to the bus station. But my car drove itself back to my house, and we made love the way we always did. We had always, from that first time, moved at the same speed, and our timing was always perfect. Just before dawn I made breakfast, her scent still on my hands and lips, her silage seemed to fill the room, fill the entire morning. I was taking her to a bus that would take her far away, much farther than ever before. The dawn was pink, and light blue, and the radio played "Shower The People" as we pulled into the station.

I can say all that was strange now, 29 years later, but really it wasn’t strange in 1980. It wasn't strange at all.  Just another day that when you check the sky, there it is... the ghost of a half-moon faintly in the noonday sun.

I can still see her face, framed in my car window at the bus depot, grinning her dimpled grin and saying
‘See ya later, Steve”
‘Yeah , Tressa, see ya later”
This time it took 29 years to see her later.
Seeing her again was like seeing a magician perform his tablecloth trick without spilling a single drop of wine.

Because,  you see, the last I heard, she was a $5000-a-night Vegas Escort.
It had been just a rumor, but I had every reason to believe it.
She was just that good.
Really.

ONLY TWO SYLLABLES

"Women! What can you say? Who made 'em?

God must have been a fuckin' genius.

The hair... They say the hair is everything, you know.

Have you ever buried your nose in a mountain of curls... just wanted to go to sleep forever? Or lips... and when they touched, yours were like... that first swallow of wine... after you just crossed the desert.

Tits.

Hoo-ah! Big ones, little ones, nipples staring right out at ya, like secret searchlights. Mmm. Legs.

I don't care if they're Greek columns... or secondhand Steinways.

What's between 'em... passport to heaven.

I need a drink.

Yes, Mr Sims, there's only two syllables in this whole wide world worth hearing: pussy. Hah! Are you listenin' to me, son? I'm givin' ya pearls here."

Lt. Col. Frank Slade

FOR A WHILE I WAS MY BEST CUSTOMER

BUT EVENTUALLY, I WAS MY ONLY CUSTOMER

IT IS ALWAYS FIVE O'CLOCK SOMEWHERE





I HAD SO MUCH FUN WITH THIS ONE ON FACEBOOK.

Linda: I get a sense from your posts, Steve, that although you appreciate a woman's physical attributes, what you really admire is their internal strength and devotion to ones they love and support. Or am I reading too much into your posts?

Steve: In this picture, I like the placement of the ribbons in her hair, and the fact that it looks like she might need a ride home.

Linda:Well, like I said "I might be reading too much into it!"

"You might use your eyes, your hands, or your smile to help her, but it will always ultimately be your words that undress her”

STOLEN @ ASSORTED

"AND YOU COULD HAVE A CHANGE OF HEART"

A BULLETHOLES RETROSPETIVE, ORIGINALLY POSTED 6 YEARS AGO

Up until 1982, my only experience with Gays had been through Drama Club in High School, where it had been whispered that certain members of the Department were "queer", and a few waiters I had worked around being a Chef. There was a big part of me that still didn’t believe someone could be truly gay, and that the only reason they behaved in that manner was that they were lonely, or just wanted to be touched.

I still didn’t quite believe they did whatever they did.

There must be a mistake. They were gay by some kind of default.

In 1982 I was Saute’ Chef for the Crystal Cactus, the gourmet restaurant at the Fort Worth Hyatt. The broiler man was Jeff, and he and I had a lot in common.

We managed to do something together at least 4 nights a week after work. If it wasn’t a party, then it was a game of “Risk” or all night Frisbee. Jeff was great with a Frisbee, and we would throw together for hours. He became one of the best friends I have ever had.

We used to do a bit from  "Guildenstern and Rosencrantz are Dead". Its a spinoff play from Billy Shakes famous "Hamlet" in which the two guards of Hamlets fathers tomb toss a coin that comes up heads 99 times in a row.

They contemplate the odds...

"If we postulate" says Guildenstern.

"And we just have!" replies Rosencrantz…

"Ninety-Nine Times!", both in unison.

So whenever things got weird at work or at a party, Jeff and I would go into our Guildenstern and Rosencrantz bit, and things would get a little weirder…it was pure fun.

My mother had had a stroke which was part of the reason I lived with her. My father was in a V.A. Hospital with Alzheimers. He had been for years. Over the course of a year Mom met Jeff several times.

Ever since her stroke my mother’s speech had changed in the typical stroke victim fashion. She now talked like a little girl with a bit of a lisp and sing-song cadence.

Getting ready for work one afternoon, I mentioned that Jeff was on vacation to New York and I had a new guy to train.

My mother gets an odd look on her face and asks what he is doing in New York.

“He says he is going to see as many plays as he can in 4 days” I tell her.

“ Did he go by himself?’ she asks.

‘No, he went with a couple of the waiters from the Restaurant”

Mom looks at me over the top of her glasses.

“Steve, is Jeff gay?

“No, Mom, why do you ask?”

And in that sing-song voice she says “Well, he...just seems... like he might... be gay.”

Now in 1982 my Mom was 65 years old and had been a housewife all her adult life. I doubt she had ever met a gay person. I was surprised that she knew the word.

I thought about it all night and finally determined that she was probably right. My best friend in the whole world, with looks and energy and charisma to burn; the guy that I hung out with 4-5 nights a week and could leap at least 4’ in the air covering 10-12 feet and catch a Frisbee behind his back; that I found myself on the same page with, completely in sync, time after time after time; my best friend that I was so proud to know....he was Gay!

It was a real awakening. These were real people in real relationships and there wasn’t anything wrong with them. Whatever I had been thinking about Gay people was all wrong.

Jeff left the Hyatt in 1986.

Then one day I found myself behind him in a checkout line in 1988. He had not seen me.

"If we Postulate..." I said very loudly.

He flinched but didn't need to turn around.

"...And we just have..." came the reply.

In unison as he turns around;

"...NINETY NINE TIMES!" and we embrace.

I never saw Jeff again. He’s one of those people that you like, one of those people in your life that you will always love, and I’d sure like to talk to him again one day.

And that’s my story here for National Coming Out  Day.

HEALTH UPDATE

You may recall last year I hired a Nutritionist and she gave me a diet to follow.

But ya know what? This ol’ addict loves to eat, and eating is the only vice I have left.
No dope, no cigarettes, no ‘Yum-Yum” so I take it out on food, and all the Nutritionists in the world can't help that.

Then back in May, I finally took another suggestion my doctor gave me (because I have learned to take suggestions) and joined a gym. But it only took a few weeks to figure out that somewhere down the line I had rotator cuff damage.
Haha! There went $30,000, and now I’m not supposed to lift more than 5 pounds or get within 20 feet of a treadmill.

But you know what?

I finally waited long enough that this is going to pay off for me.
The doctor is actually paying me to lose weight!
You heard right, he is PAYING ME to lose weight!
I am in a study, and taking some untested little blue pill.

God, I love big pharmacy!
God, how I love this country!

Of course, if I lose 30 pounds and then my dick falls off, whats the use?

FULLY CLOTHED WOMEN II

“The men in the room suddenly realized that they did not want to know her better. She was beautiful, but she was beautiful in the way a forest fire was beautiful: something to be admired from a distance, not up close. And she held her sword, and she smiled like a knife.”



TERRY PRATCHETT

FULLY CLOTHED WOMEN

"I've said this nineteen dozen times but you still don't believe it. Man is the one animal that can't be tamed. He goes along for years, peaceful as a cow, when it suits him. Then when it suits him not to be, he makes a leopard look like a tabby cat. Which goes double for the female of the species." 
Robert Heinlein

THE HOLLOW MEN

Between the idea

And the reality

Between the motion

And the act

Falls the Shadow

                For Thine is the Kingdom

Between the conception

And the creation

Between the emotion

And the response

Falls the Shadow

                 Life is very long

Between the desire

And the spasm

Between the potency

And the existence

Between the essence

And the descent

Falls the Shadow

                For Thine is the Kingdom

For Thine is

Life is

For Thine is the

This is the way the world ends

This is the way the world ends

This is the way the world ends

Not with a bang but a whimper.

from the hollow men by ts eliot

GOT METH?

As I drove into the neighborhood yesterday evening coming home from work, I saw the guy a few doors down out in his yard. He had cleared a path of grass, scoured right down to the soil from his porch to the mailbox at the curb. Good straight edges, about 3 feet wide, gently curving with a 90 degree turn to his driveway as well. 

This guy is always doing something, and I figured he was making a sidewalk. He had all the turf nicely stacked on a flatbed trailer, and he was guzzling a big glass of lemonade as I passed. It had a nice visual style to it. I could see it in my minds eye, as I'm sure you are doing now, lined next year with a bed of petunias, a few Crepe Myrtles, and a watchful little garden gnome set amid the Nana Nandina's.


 It looked pretty good for phase 1 of his project.
But as I pulled out of the neighborhood this morning, there he is, up bright and early, but he is not going into whatever Phase 2 might have been.
Nope.
Sometime during the night he has replaced all the turf he removed yesterday. He is standing there, hands on his hips, looking all tired and dejected. There will be no cement walk from the porch to the mailbox, no Nana Nandina, no garden gnome..

I guess he was either:
1) Tweaking pretty bad yesterday.
2) Or else his wife came home and said “No, uh-uh”

I'd have told her to kiss my gnomish ass.

HARD TO PUT DOWN

A RETROSPECTIVE, PUBLISHED BY YOURS TRULY ON DECEMBER 1ST, 2009 ON FACEBOOK. I NEVER DID IMPORT IT TO BULLETHOLES. HERE IT IS FOR YOU RED...

It is easy to pick up the rifle, it is much harder to put it down”
Chief Joseph of the Nez Perce

I can imagine him saying this trying to avoid fighting with the United States Calvary. 
In 1877, 700 of his Nez Perce (mostly women and children) led the U.S. Army on a 1,400-mile, 4 month long running battle, hoping to escape to Canada to continue their way of life, only to be caught 40 miles from the Canadian border.
General Sherman said of Josephs attempt to escpape to freedom "one of the most remarkable feats in military history". It was there that Chief Joseph gave this fairly famous speech: 

“I am tired of fighting. Our chiefs are dead. Looking Glass is dead. Toohoolzote is dead. The old men are dead. It is young men who say ‘Yes’ or ‘No’. It is cold and we have no blankets. The little children are freezing to death. My people, some of them, have run away to the hills and have no blankets, no food. No one knows where they are…perhaps freezing to death. I want to have time to look for my children and see how many I can find. Maybe I shall find them among the dead. Hear me, my chiefs. I am tired, my heart is sick and sad. From where the sun now stands, I will fight no more forever.”

They were marched to a Reservation in Oklahoma, where Joseph died years later. His doctor said he died of “a broken heart”.

Somewhere on that Reservation there is a grave that contains the half-Indian Grandson of Merriweather Lewis, whom the Nez Perce had befriended in 1805 when the explorer reached Oregon on his famous expedition.

Anyway, its this kind of thing I think about when I think about what Obama will be having to do tonight in his speech, after having campaigned on stopping the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan, and also shutting down the US torture chamber at Gitmo.

“It is easy to pick up the rifle, it is much harder to put it down.”
Indeed.

 Chief Joseph ~ Hien~mot~Too~ya~la~kekt (Thunder Rolling from the Mountain)

"TALK LOUD..."

"Talk loud and sit close to the house."

Teddy Roosevelt

I'LL SUE THE FUCK OUT OF THEM

Here is a picture of the Dr. Pepper can that came out in November of 2001 in commemoration of the 9/11 attacks.

This Special Edition can was designed to reflect national pride and unity. An image of the Statue of liberty and 3 words from the Pledge of Allegiance appeared on the can:
“One Nation…Indivisible”

Instead of inspiring unity and antional pride, it started a firestorm of dissent from folks that were offended by the omission of the words “Under God”. In 2001.
The reason I write about this now is that I note that lately a story to repost on Facebook has been appearing that claims Pepsi is attempting to market a can of similar design. I would suggest that this is a bogus story, regurgitated from the Dr. Pepper campaign, designed to fan the flames of the “Under God “ controversy.

Me? I am neither offended in a religious sense by the inclusion or omission of these words on a can of soda pop, or in the Pledge itself.


However, I am offended mildly as a writer at the inclusion of the words “Under God” in the text of the pledge as we know it, because "Under God" DID NOT appear in the original pledge as written by Frank Bellamy in 1892. Those words were added by Congress in 1954.

If anybody ever tries to add the words “Under God” to anything I write, I’ll sue the fuck out of them.


TIME MAGAZINE DID THE SAME THING...NO ONE NOTICED

THE FALKLANDS

I used to work with this British guy, Hugh Martyr. We were chefs at the Fort Worth Hyatt. He smoked Dunhills, and drank Earl Grey tea. He lived out at Eagle Mountain Lake, and drove his little Triumph Spitfire down 10 mile Bridge Road for his commute. He had gloves, goggles, a scarf, and one of those little caps the Brits like to wear when they are “touring”. That’s what they call ‘driving”.


He was really a classy kind of guy, and we made quite a pair I suppose. We used to get into a lot of banter back and forth about systems of government, and Presidents and Kings, and the idea that we are a people separated by a common language. It was always good natured, and Hugh’s dry sense of humor was delightful to me.

In 1982, Margaret Thatcher sent the British fleet to capture back for the Empire the Falkland Islands, which had been invaded by the Argentinian army. Argentina claimed the Falklands, which they called the Malvinas, belonged to them.
 It was a real crisis.  The whole British task force eventually comprised 127 ships. Thatcher sent three Aircraft carriers, four Destroyers, a dozen battleships, no telling how many subs, and all the Auxilliary Navy to support the armada. Also deployed were ocean liners--including the Queen Elizabeth II-- loaded with tens of thousands of tough British marines ready to slog it out with the Argentinean rebels. 
The Falkland Islands are about 100 yards off the coast of Argentina, but 10,000 miles from sunny England. It took the British fleet eleven  days to get there. It is so far away that they lost ships and men just trying to hazard the journey.

Of course, when they got there, they kicked ass, and took their Island back. After all, the Argentineans only had a dozen planes and 4,000 troops in the entire army anyway.

All of this made Margaret Thatcher a hero. But I never quite understood it. During the crisis, I used to come to work and ask Hugh:
“Tell me again why you want this Island? There is nothing there but some sheep, a few stray penguins, and the occasional Magellinic Snipe.. It sits right off the coast of Argentina, its not much bigger than Tarrant County. What in the world does the Empire need with this Island? Why not just give it back? Why not just let them have it?”

The thing is, of all the banter that Hugh and I exchanged while we worked together, this is the one that pissed him off. He didn’t like it one bit, and it created a bit of a rift between us for a while.. He tried to explain it to me, but I never quite understood. Maybe I still don’t.

The reason I write this story is because I went to see the movie "Obama 2016", and in the movie it basically says that because I thought in 1982  that maybe Argentina had a claim to the Falklands, that makes me Anti-American.

LOYAL BRITISH SUBJECTS

BACK TO WORK!

WALKIN' THE MILE

"I'm tired, boss. Tired of bein' on the road, lonely as a sparrow in the rain. I'm tired of never having me a buddy to be with, to tell me where we's going to or coming from, or why. Mostly, I'm tired of people being ugly to each other. I'm tired of all the pain I feel and hear in the world every day. There's too much of it. It's like pieces of glass in my head all the time. Can you understand?"
from The Green Mile by Stephen King

Rest easy John Coffee, you big soft gentle man.

Michael Clarke Duncan (December 10, 1957 – September 3, 2012)

OFF TO NEVER-NEVER LAND

I'm good! No pain this morning. 

Yesterday in Pre-op, I started getting pretty grouchy. I hadn't been able to eat breakfast, no coffee even. I had a headache, and everybody was poking me and asking the same questions over and over.
I don't like questions when I'm grumpy. 
Then they did a nerve block on my shoulder, and it was hard to breathe. They rolled me into the operating room and I was miserable and I looked up at the anesthesiologist and said:
"You better do something PDQ, Slick, or I am out of here!"
He looked down and said "You got ten seconds, Hot Rod?" and that's the last thing I remember.

They knocked me out with Propanolol. 
Thats the stuff what that killed young Michael.
I woke up in post-op doing the moonwalk and singing "I'm a Thriller".

DOCTORS

They are so serious all the time. I guess that's how they got to be doctors.
I have been having to see an orthopedic surgeon about my shoulder. After five visits, he still won't budge a smile. I like to think I'm a funny guy, but this guy is made of rubber. Humor just bounces off him.
He asked me "When does it hurt?"
I showed him my range of motion.
"It hurts here, and here and....sometimes here. But I tell you doc, the most consistent time, the thing I do that it always hurts, is when I scratch my nuts."
He didn't smile. He didn't look up. He didn't even flinch.
Just scribbled on his chart "Duly noted" I suppose.

I go in for surgery tomorrow. Rotator cuff; out of work for a couple weeks.
Wish me luck.

THE MOTHER OF ALL FISHING TRIPS

Back about 1991, it rained so much around here that the lakes got so full you couldn’t launch a boat. All the ramps were underwater for about 6 months. You had to drive a long ways away to find a lake with a ramp open.


My daughter Aubree was just about two. She was sweet and small, had just learned to walk, because she just has one of those spirits that was happy to be a crawler for a long time. She was always happy and smiling and laughing, and she had a pretty good little vocabulary for a kid that preferred crawling to walking.

Back then I used to go to Grapevine just about every week before they shut down the ramps. Then one day I heard that there was a ramp open at Grapevine. After dinner that evening, I leaned back in my chair and said to Shila (my wife back then) “Honey, what do you think if Aubree and I take the boat up to Grapevine, and see if we can get on the lake?”

I knew there was no way Shila could refuse me this. My son Lee was only about 6 months old and too young for a trip like that, but I could see in Shila’s eyes how pleased she was that I would take my daughter to the lake on a Monday evening for an hour of fishing.
“Sure” she says real sweet like “You guys have fun!”

So I load up the boat, which I hadn’t had in the water for some time, and put Aubree’ in the car seat, and away we go. Sure as heck, the ramp at Silver lake Park is open, and the engine starts right up, and Aubree and I are sailing, sailing over the bounding main. She has her little pole, and is happy as a clam, and I manage to catch a fish, and she is delighted, especially when I let the poor little thing go.
“Bye-bye” she says to the little fishy.

All we have is an hour, and it’s time now to go, but we are happy for having gone, and I crank up the motor and head for the ramp before the sun goes all the way down.

We had been the only boat on the lake, at least till now, because a big ass 40 foot Chris Craft just passed right in front of me. It had kicked up a pretty good wake, about 4 feet maybe, and with Aubree in my lap we hit it full speed…

*BAM!!!* and the water sprays, and we laugh and then we get to the second monster wave and *BAM!!!* and oh what fun this is as water sprays out and over and all upon us and then we got to the third wave and the engine is screaming and we hit it *BAM!!!* and the water sprays and then…

NOTHING…

By that I mean the engine is no longer screaming, the throttle is missing from my hand, the boat has suddenly stopped its forward motion, and Aubree and I turn to look at where the screaming motor had been and guess what?
It was gone.
Gone, as in not attached to the back of the boat anymore. It takes a moment to process that your motor just flew off the back of the boat, but its disappearance was confirmed by little Aubree, sitting on my lap.
She gives a little wave and says “Bye-bye”
The most amazing thing that sticks out in my mind is just how quiet it gets when the motor flies off your boat.

Aubree and I paddled our way to a deserted shoreline. There was a road about 100 yards up from the lake. I carried her up to the road to see if we could find some help. In 1991 nobody had cell phones, but we managed to wave a car down, and wouldn’t you know, they happened to have one of those WWII looking 5 pound portable phones.

I called Shila. I didn’t want to tell her what happened.
“Hello?” she answered.
“Hi honey”
“Hi. What’s the matter?”
“Wellll…wellll… we have had a little problem with the boat. We are OK, but stranded on shore, and someone will have to come get us”

Now I have to give Shila some credit here. She did not freak out at all. She was cool calm and collected, but for some reason, I just couldn’t see fit to tell her the whole truth.

“What happened to the boat?” she asks.
“Just a little problem with the motor” (True)
“Where are you at?” she asks.
“Do you know where Meadowmere Park and Sandy Beach is?”
“No”
“Well, you call Kem Keeton. He knows where it is. Send him to come get us”

So Aubree and I wait to be rescued. I bring all my tackle up from the boat. It is pitch dark now.
After a bit here comes a car. It’s Kem. We load all my tackle in his car.
I’ll have to come back tomorrow with my other motor (yes, I have two) and get the boat.

We go to the ramp, way down the lake, move all my gear into my van and Aubree and I drive home. Shila meets us in the driveway as I’m unloading the van.
“I’m glad you two are OK “ she says.
“Yeah me too”
She surveys my gear.
“Where is your motor?”
That’s the question I’ve been hoping to avoid. Without looking up I say:
“Oh, I left it at the lake.” (True)
“Left it at the lake? You’re kidding. It probably won’t be there tomorrow.”
“Yep. Probably not.” (True again)

She fixes me and Aubree a little snack, and asks again:
“Steve, what exactly happened to your motor?”
“Well honey, it just kinda stopped running all of a sudden” (True)
“Do you know what’s wrong with it?”
“Welll…well… maybe it’s just flooded real bad or something, I don’t know” (true, in a sense)

But Shila’s bullshit meters are on high alert by now, and as I’m just about to crawl into bed she asks me one more time, real softly.
“Steve, tell me, what really happened to your motor?”
I hung my head. I hung it low. She had asked it with all the kindness in the world, and that much kindness deserves an honest answer.

“My motor flew off the back of the boat, Shila. It’s gone. Just gone, somewhere in 25 feet of water at the bottom of Grapevine Lake. That’s what happened to my motor”

And that is the story of me and Aubree's first fishing trip!

HERE SHE IS WITH HER LUCKY FISHING FEATHERS ON!

ROMA TOMATOES

My roommate Angela actually ate something good this week and liked it. She is hard to cook for. Its like cooking for a 6 year old.


I’ll say “We are having chicken with pesto and sliced tomato’s tonight” and she’ll stick out her lower lip and say “I don’t like tomatoes”.
“Angela, when is the last time you ate a tomato?”
“I don’t know”
“Maybe 20 years? Have you had a tomato the last 20 years?”
“No, probably not.  I think I was 6, and it made me sick. I don't like tomatoes” again with the lip.
“Tell you what, I’m going to make this shit, and you just close your eyes, hold your nose, try to be honest, open-minded, and willing. Put your big girl panties on and see if maybe we don’t like tomatoes the way I do them. Its delicious, so clean and summery, and you won’t find a lower calorie, more nutritious meal out there”

So I sliced some Roma tomatoes, spread them out on a plate with a little olive oil, salt and pepper while the chicken sautee’d with the pesto, grilled a little Asiago bread, and when the chicken was done I set it on the bed of sliced tomatoes and drizzled the juice over the whole thing.

Well, guess what? It made her knees buckle she liked it so good.

I THOUGHT HE WAS A BUM UNTIL HE REPLACED MY LIQUOR CABINET"

Helen Gurley Brown and Lessons in Love:
One- "Take time to court her."
Two- "Make her talk to you, and you listen!"
Three- "Admire her character, even if she doesn’t have any."
Four- "Forget your success stories"

Five- "Don’t be a Caveman. How many times do you have to be told?"

EIGH

T- "NEVER DRINK ALL HER BOOZE WITHOUT REPLACING IT. I THOUGHT HE WAS A BUM UNTIL HE REPLACED MY LIQUOR CABINET"

For a real treat, listen to Side One Here...

She is a dynamo! Check out at least the first 3 minutes!

"PRETTY SWANKY"

I wrote and posted this up a couple years ago, but my son happened to see it, got a little paranoid, and wanted me to take it down. So I did.
But here it is, and I'm able to post it again because his life is much different now.
I'm very proud of him, and what he has done to get his act together. Like i said last week, he took five ckllases, and he passed five classes.

October 2009
I went to one of these fancy, high fallutin' North Dallas parties over the weekend.
They had Shrimp, and Smoked Salmon; Calamata Olives and Roasted Red peppers; even had Swedish meatballs and Spanokopita.
It was what my father would have called “pretty swanky”.
And they even had a very cute little blond catering girl with a ferocious ass serving it all up.

There was the usual assortment of Power Hitters, Corporate Gurus, and High Fashionista types.
I got cornered by a plain looking fellow with a cherubic face, dimpled chin, and bad acne. The only thing cool about him was his Stevie Ray Vaughn hat, but even that would not save him from the fact that he had shown up to this party with three mechanical pencils in his shirt pocket. We discussed his job as a software engineer and the failings of Excel Spreadsheets, and I was just about to make my break when we were approached by a very aggressive man that stood 6’6” and could not have weighed more than 140 pounds. Within 45 seconds I had his life story.

He said he had a degree in chemistry, and had retired a millionaire the first time after selling his business in Magnetic Imaging. Then he went to Law School and had spent the last several years suing the asses off of corrupted Doctors. Then he retired again, because its too "hard to sue a Doctor" anymore, but he is working now on a Metabolic Elixir, sure to be a success and save people from the heartbreak of needless bariatric surgery.
Then he started in with the questions….I thought I was on a speed date.
“Kids?” He asked.
“Two” I said.
‘Ages?”
“19 and 20”
‘Boys?”
“Girl and Boy”
‘Working or school?”
“Boy works, Girl in school”
“Major?”
“Marine Biology”
“What job?”
‘Are you asking me what my son does for a living?”
‘Yes”
“Oh, he deals Pot.”
His jaw drops and theres something stuck in his throat.
‘Really?” he gasps.
“Yes, he does quite well. Takes after me.”

So the three of us guys stood there and chewed the fat for…well…for as long as I could take it. I finally found a break in the rapid fire conversation and said
“Well listen fellas, its been fascinating talking with ya’ll, but if you don’t mind, I’m going to go find some chicks to talk to.”
When I left an hour later with the little catering girl, those two were still jabberin’ away.

STRUMMIN" THE OL' BANJO

"A woman just walked by wiggling it...and we are not dead yet"

Charles Bukowski

My buddy Martjin points out that one of the gentlemen ogling the lady happens to be Roscoe Holcomb. If you are like me, you are wondering who the hell Roscoe Holcomb is, and after watching this video, you will wonder how a guy in Amsterdam could pick Roscoe Holcomb out of this picture...

PARTICLES

"You can live as a particle crashing about and colliding in a welter of materials with god, or you can live as a particle crashing about and colliding in a welter of materials without god. But you cannot live outside the welter of colliding materials."

- Annie Dillard

stolen from my friend kissyface

Immaculate Heart College Art Department Rules

Rule #1~“Find a place that you can trust, and then try trusting it for a while”

 image ~ Tippi Hedron and Neil

"I haven't slept with anyone all day"

I mentioned my son in yesterday's post.
He's 22,  just finished his first semester of college.
He took 5 classes, and he passed 5 classes. I can't begin to tell you what a miracle that is, because he was never much of a student.

He runs some kind of cathouse right off Campus. Rents rooms to other students. I think at any one time about six people live there, mostly chicks.
I got a text from him two weeks ago:
"Dad, I haven't slept with anyone all day"
I replied;
 "Good for you son, but its only 8pm."

He is quite a little character.

HIS FRIENDS

HIS HOUSE

BIRTHDAY NIGHT AT THE LAST CHANCE

“What we have here is the most stubborn person in the world. He taught me a lot of stuff,  mostly bad. I watched him dig himself into a hole, stop caring about himself, and turn away from the people he loved. Turn away from the people who loved him. But when it came time that I had dig my way out of my own hole, and learn to smile again, my dad showed me the way. My dad showed me that we do recover. What we have here is the last of the Individualists. C'mon up Pop!”

My son, the Rip, introducing me at last week’s birthday night at Another Chance Chapter of NA.

Birthday night is a monthly event where those celebrating a year or more of continuous clean time are introduced, usually by their sponsor, and invited to speak to the group. It is a more formal setting than your usual recovery meeting.

I was very pleased to have my son introduce me. It’s hard for me to tell all of his story here, but maybe someday I will.
What did I share that night?
Something like this…HERE

EVERYTHING

from "fullyclothedwomen"

When they asked me what I wanted to be I said I didn’t know.

“Oh, sure you know,” the photographer said.

“She wants,” said Jay Cee wittily, “to be everything.”

— Sylvia Plath

GUITARMAN

Click image to enlarge.
Key located here

THE HUMEROUS HEAD

Remember back at my birthday, when I joined a gym, all pumped up to get my ass in shape? CLICK HERE

And then a month later when I hadn't missed hardly any days? CLICK HERE

Want to know how that’s going for me? I haven’t been in a month, thats how its going, and so far it has cost me about 500 dollars and earned me a date with an anesthesiologist and a surgeon on August 23rd.
Seems I got a gimpy left shoulder. Its likely been injured for years; bad rotator cuff, torn bicep, and calcification of the humerous head. I guess going to the gym and lifting something heavier than a diet coke and a spoonful of Cap’n Crunch aggravated it.

So I walk into the gym yesterday to pay my bill.
Biff is there behind the counter. When I saw him last month, and he asked me how it was going I told him I HATED coming here.
He had laughed and said “Yeah, everybody does, but at least you keep showing up”

But now, he’s grinnin’ at me like a butchers dog.
“Where have you been, slacker?” he says.
I point to my shoulder. “I’m on injured reserve. I’ve blown my shoulder out. Gonna have to have surgery. Then I'll be bionic”
“I’m sorry to hear that” he says. “But you could come up and do cardio.”
“No, the doctor, he told me to stay away from this place” and I laugh.
“That doctor didn’t tell you that!"he says. “You can do cardio!”
“Yeah, you’re right, my doctor didn’t tell me that. But he did say to stay away from the weights, and frankly I don’t trust myself. If I come here to do cardio, and I see all those weights just laying around in there, I’m afraid I will lose control and have to go try to pick some of them up. And that wouldn't be good!”

And Biff and I just crack up! I sure do like Biff! He’s alright!

THIS GERBIL COULD PROBABLY KICK MY ASS